


Unwarranted Affections (Day Four: Fantasy/Adventure)

by RhetoricFemme



Series: Scenic World AU [9]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Contemplation, Fluff, JeanMarcoMonth, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 18:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15913998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: In the middle of a long car ride alone, Marco realizes that fantasies are seldom what we expect them to be.





	Unwarranted Affections (Day Four: Fantasy/Adventure)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This oneshot is a direct follow-up to [Maybe Someday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873111), which I wrote for day one of JMM. It's been a lot of fun reading and sharing stories and art with all of you for JMM, and I'm just so glad this community exists. <3

It isn’t often Marco gets away with pulling the wool over more than one set of eyes at a time.

It’d been simple enough to tell Jean and his family that he’d be spending Thanksgiving at his parents’ home, without receiving further inquiries. There was nothing unorthodox about Marco’s choice to make the eight hour drive north to his family’s home in Jinae.

It was that upon arrival Marco would be the only person there, and the fact that he hadn’t informed his mother or father that he would be coming where the lines began to blur.

Marco’s parents had understood his need to decline joining them on a two week cruise at the start of the holiday season. Tutoring school-age musicians often occurred around preexisting school schedules, while the Old Towne youth orchestra’s annual Christmas concert would require the majority of his attention.

And so Marco decided the take advantage of his own students’ short holiday break, choosing to take some much needed time for himself. An opportunity to clear his head and lay some priorities out.

It seemed prudent to visit home. Even in his parents’ absence, he’d be able to take care of various tasks in their stead. Not simply for the fact that they deserved it, but on account that Marco was still uncertain that he would be seeing his family once Christmastime came around.

Pieces of his life were rearranging themselves. Old habits disintegrating for a new set of needs and wants, all of which required sufficient room to grow in his heart. Where logically Marco still couldn’t vouch for where he would be as the holidays pressed on, there was another part of him yet that felt Jean would be right there beside him.

He’d left at four o’clock in the morning. Slipped his arm away from the peaceful rise and fall created by Jean’s breath, gotten dressed quietly while watching the frost glistening at the corner of the bedroom window.

Marco had taken a chance in scooping up one of two shirts next to the bed. While the feel of the fabric was indication enough, he was pleased when leaving the Kirschstein home to realize he had indeed left his own shirt behind on Jean’s bedroom floor.

With that, he was content to start off on what was to be a lengthy, thought-provoking drive back to his first home.

Hours transpire wherein Marco gives himself permission to address various thoughts and circumstances he finds himself in. Other moments, he takes time to do little else than enjoy the silence while focusing on the road in front of him.

At some point during the drive, Marco doesn’t prevent when his mind begins to wander. He’s come to a standstill courtesy of the morning commute when near tangible memories of Jean come flooding into his head.

He’d savored the taste of Jean the night before. It had been nothing more than an evening of sleep and silent reprieve, but Jean had allowed Marco to accent the occasion with kiss after kiss across warm, work-weary skin.

The sun is finally rising, and with it the temperature of Marco’s body.

Jean hadn’t simply allowed him but had welcomed him. For Marco the gesture was immense, as he seems to perpetually be considering the myriad things each of them continue to leave unsaid.

Each kiss had been a new moment of consciousness. A new resolution that with time, the two of them would learn how to navigate this experience with one another. Every sweep of Jean’s hand against Marco’s thigh a promise that they were going to do this right.

In some respects, Jean’s affection still feels like a fantasy. And now, parked in the middle of the highway during an immovable morning commute, some of those longstanding fantasies take advantage of the pieces of Jean that Marco is fortunate to already know.

Since the beginning Jean’s mouth has always held a certain appeal to Marco. Back then, Jean had come with the label of being Bertholt and Reiner’s handsome younger brother. His presence had always been unpredictable, his company a constant in-and-out.

Of course, Marco had decided privately to no one other than himself that Jean was handsome, and that a large part of it had to do with the personality of Jean’s mouth. Whether one of those arrogant grins, or the way he could stand still in contemplation while chewing at his lip. Or the sweet, unconsciously upended smile that seemed to define him, Jean’s mouth could always garner Marco’s attention.

Marco thought of Jean’s mouth now as he sat alone in the driver’s seat of his car. The idea of Jean’s lips sealed around his cock had long since been a staple to the more primal recesses of Marco’s mind. Recently, however, the vision had been given an upgrade.

How is it, Marco still wonders, that he’d managed to know Jean for several years before ever learning that he required glasses?

He blamed the years of distance more than the fact that Jean preferred to not wear them. Maintaining such an opinion helped to validate the notion that were it not for their geographical circumstances, Marco would have perhaps learned this fact about Jean sooner.

At any rate.

The back of Marco’s mind has established the image of Jean in spectacles as the way things are, and from now on that is simply how it’s going to be. In Marco’s fantasies, anyway.

While he’d never want Jean to do anything he didn’t care for, in private Marco will enjoy the thought of glasses resting on Jean’s face as much as he likes.

He enjoys the notion about as much as he enjoys the thought of Jean going down on him, and to combine the two is without a doubt a chance for Marco to have the best of both worlds.

The rhythmic bob of Jean’s head as he works Marco over. Every playful flick of Jean’s tongue. Hot breath across his aching skin every time Jean sighs from the effort necessary to swallow Marco whole, and the distinct press of rectangular frames into his belly every time Jean takes him down.

Marco unzips himself, lets his palm graze the head of his dick while he sits in early morning traffic; scandal blazing up his spine as he imagines his palm being the back of Jean’s throat.

There once was a time when Marco would ask himself whether he thinks Jean is the sort to spit or swallow, although these days he hardly gives that thought a chance.

Jean would swallow all of Marco’s length down. Tease his tongue against the underside of Marco’s cock as he comes back up for air, a haughty-sweet laugh just after the gasp, as Marco proceeds to guide Jean by a fistful of dirty blond hair.

Pulling him away from his dick, Jean would look at Marco with equal parts affection and greed before training his gaze upward.

_“Do it, Marc.” That lopsided, knowing grin. “C’mon, Tiger.”_

Jean would touch himself with renewed vigor. A trembling hand fisted around his own dick, as the sticky-hot stream of fluid hits his face while he continues to jerk himself to completion.

In the end Jean’s glasses are a lost cause. Marco would smile, excruciatingly careful while removing them from Jean’s face. Gather him close.

_“You said you hate wearing them, anyway. You’re welcome.”_

He doesn’t let Jean stay a mess for long, but guides them toward the bathroom. _Their_ bathroom, where Marco wastes no time starting the shower that will take care of both of them.

Some changes have occurred to the fantasy over time. That much is true.

Marco combs over it now, indulging in some parts more than others while his cock rests heavy in his hand during early morning traffic.

He thinks about the end of the fantasy. It’s the only part that has long since stayed the same.

They proceed in casual reverence. The sort that establishes itself among people who for one reason or another belong to one another. Marco cleans Jean up, leaving no trace of their activities on him. He accepts the slow knead of Jean’s fingers as they dig into his shoulders; an earlier revision after he’d been privy to a shoulder from Jean several months ago.

Sometimes they spoil each other amid silence. Other times there’s easy, idle banter.

But every time, without fail, the fantasy ends with the words Marco is still trying to find the right time to say.

_“Jean, I love you.”_

Marco doesn’t come in the middle of traffic. The closer he gets, the more he realizes he’s finished relying on fantasies, and wants nothing more in this moment than to use his own voice to tell Jean any number of things he’s been dying to say.

Sometime later, well after cars have begun moving and Marco has zipped himself back up again, his wheels finally hit that backroad gravel he’s been waiting for.

Rolling down the window, he washes himself in November country air, would swear to Heaven above he feels it when the anxiety leaves his body.

Four days go by wherein Marco alternates between working hard, and indulgently not working at all. So blissful is the silence that for the duration of the trip he doesn’t utter a single word.

Eventually the time arrives where he must return. Another eight hour drive to the life he’s spent years working to establish. And more than anything, Marco is excited to go back there.

He doesn’t expect anything to be perfect. He knows better than anyone how much nuance still needs to be brought into the light. Realizes he’ll have to ungag the desperate voices of more than one personal matter he’s acquired over time.

But Marco knows he’s ready for it.

Leaving his parents’ house at four o’clock in the morning, double checking every lock is his first priority. And then Marco checks them again. Nothing is perfect, he knows, but it’s not going to keep him from having a try.

Nor is it perfect timing when his phone finally gets a signal at five in the morning.

Despite the hour, Jean picks up the phone after only two rings. It’s almost as if part of Jean already knows that he’s the first occasion for which Marco has spoken a single word in days.

The feeling in Marco’s chest now isn’t all that different from the one he’d experienced with that first inhale of country air.

Settling into the seat, Marco hits the cruise control, eager to listen to Jean tell him about the last several days. His voice is tired, but his inflection soft and warm when he greets Marco happily. It this way, it feels as though Marco never even climbed out of Jean’s bed.

It’s the first time for Marco realizing that in accepting Jean and all that comes with him, the two of them have created an unyielding radius to a feeling that he can only describe as some kind of sanctity.

**Author's Note:**

> Me writing Jean calling Marco by private nicknames:
> 
> "One for me! Aaand one for Dani!"


End file.
